Change Is A Choice
by OtakuTayZay100
Summary: A/U. One shot. Izaya retells a time when he'd sit back and allow his own mother to make him regret his existence, simply because he thought that that was what mothers were supposed to do. Rated T for language and MOMENTARY sexual mentioning.


**((A/N: Okay, so don't hate me if you don't think it's all that great! I might write another Izaya fanfic in the foreseeable future...maybe...just because I love his crazy ass like the rest of you. Trust me, I know my research, but I chose to take a different path on this guy's past. Also, sorry if it's a little too short for your liking, I will make up for it eventually. With that being said, please enjoy!))**

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I guess I wasn't always a douchebag. At least, that's what others have labeled me as. I used to be a really good kid; that is, until I realized that those who should've treated me like a human being were soon to be the bane of my existence. As a child, I didn't know the difference between cold-blooded cruelty and misunderstood love. In fact, I confused one as the other. That didn't necessarily mean that I should've let bygones be bygones, yet I did just that, 'cause I was just another stupid child born into a world of misinterpreted rejection.

I spent most of my time in the crib, crying and screaming because I'd either shat my diaper, or simply because I wanted someone to hold me. That never led my mom to get off her lazy ass and come see what was wrong with me. Not even the pitiful pleas of her own son could lure her from the couch. When one of my many babysitters told her I had a diaper rash, she said she'd get right on it. That was a lie, of course. Whenever I cried, Mom got right on my ass-literally, that bitch grabbed the nearest belt and just went _at_ it. I knew better than to shed another tear, even though her boyfriends liked to beat me.

The kids teased me about my diaper rash, though at the time I was too young to understand that their laughing and pointing were gestures of mockery. Teachers began to question my mom's ability in care taking, but she always insisted that she knew exactly what she was doing. Apparently, I believed that, because I never confessed, never admitted to the fact that I was being abused beyond reason. I loved her, as I should've. She was my mother, and she knew what was best for me.

Right?

Well... Didn't she?

Mom sure seemed to think so.

Once middle school rolled around, I'd basically reached the point where being mute was the best option for me. I wasn't allowed to have friends over, or even leave my mother's side. She gave me plenty of reasons to adhere to her rules, with several lashes to my ass being one of them. The only place I could seek comfort was my bed. Mom would always cover up the fact that she was relentlessly cruel towards me, by buying me a decent place to rest. It didn't even have blankets or clean sheets on there-just a mattress to lay my head down at night. Yet even around that time of night, she'd still find some sort of excuse to beat me.

I seriously didn't know what was up with her. Why did she have to be so harsh with me? What did I do wrong? Was I just an abortion gone wrong? Why did she hate me so much? While we were eating dinner, the night before my first day of high school, Mom looked me dead in the eye. She said these exact words:

_"You're the reason your father is gone."_

So, she hated me because of a choice that some commitment-fearing idiot made? Hell, if he'd known that this was how she was gonna treat his kid, then he must've not been the only one that left her. I mean, shit, I never knew my own father, so it was safe to assume that he wouldn't have stuck around, regardless of her being pregnant or not.

After that, Mom withdrew again. We never got the chance to have a casual conversation, and I never had the chance to eat dinner alone, where I'd remain somewhat safe. However, when I did spend my time alone, I wondered if Mom was still abusive and rough around the ages when she was my age. I couldn't picture a woman as pretty as her being filled with hatred at the age of fourteen. She had her whole life ahead of her. What reason did she have to act so bitter before even becoming a mother? That, of course, was just another sheet of ice she wasn't willing to break.

From then on, I kept all further questions to myself, where they'd remain locked up in my head, to be unheard of for the rest of my days. Even if it killed us both, Mom and I decided to keep our suspicious relationship behind closed doors. She didn't wanna go to jail and I didn't wanna be placed under anybody's spotlight.

Still, as I grew, I wanted her to love me, so I eventually learned how to speak out and stand up for myself. Naturally, Mom didn't like that, and I was then forced-not only by her, but by my psycho uncle-into joining the military for my "unnecessary" behavior. Oh, and psychotic uncle I mentioned a moment ago? He was the fucking general.

I was just about ready to run for the hills, when I soon found myself intrigued by another man, one who always sought ways of getting pissed off. It was always over minuscule things, but hey, after learning about his past, I couldn't really blame him. Made me wonder why I wasn't the same way. Even I wound up finding certain habits that would just blow his top. All of his flaws made me want him more. I couldn't call what we had love, because my mom had proven to me that such a thing doesn't exist in a world like this. There was an awful lot of physical contact between us, though...

Unfortunately, we couldn't continue to keep it under wraps. The general found out and had us separated, but my boy toy always seemed to get around each and every boundary. I interested myself in him ten times more because of it; however, things soon began to fizzle out in our fooling around. I loved to hate him, but he eventually wanted me dead altogether. Wasn't ever sure what I did that aroused such an intense loathing within him, but it unleashed onto me worse than my mother's beatings. It became so bad that once we graduated from the military, he looked like he was about ready to rip my head clean off—with his bare hands.

I thought that our promising battles would never end, until one hard throw of a vending machine landed me right in the hospital. That man swore I got lucky, 'cause any other man would've died from that. Wasn't too sure if that meant I should be grateful or not; after all, dying didn't sound so bad at the time.

So, I'm sure you know as well as I do that there's a whole lot more to this story than I'm letting on, but what would humans be without their imagination? What I'm saying is, I'm encouraging you to use it because of this rather disappointing ending. I'm sure you're dying to know if this guy and I ever come to our senses and fuck already, or if I ever go back and visit my mom whilst she's in a retirement home. I don't wanna give too much away, but let's just say that I'm a changed man now.

All things that I would've found myself doing before are now a thing of the past. It's too bad. I'm sure someone would've loved me eventually. It's also too damn bad that I have the patience of a two-year-old. If you're not interesting enough for me, then you'll have no purpose in my life; but, hey, count your lucky stars if you are! There's not a doubt in my mind that I'd make one damn good lover, and only history can prove that.

C'mon. What did you expect? An apology to announce to the whole world for not sticking to my innocent ways? Please. We've all gotta grow up sometime.

...Don't we?


End file.
